


Alley Cat

by Kamaevis (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied abuse, M/M, and, and a tail, cute little paw feet, john's got cat ears, um, what do i even say here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kamaevis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>[[ON HIATUS]]</strong>
</p>
<p>Working late sucks, especially when you've been blackmailed into it by bitchy lesbians with infuriating, black-painted grins. </p>
<p>You've always hated closing the shop, and that's when you do it with someone else and you're not left to find ways to entertain yourself, alone, at eight o' clock on a Sunday night. Things get a little more interesting when you find a kid sniffing around the dumpster out back, and you, against your better judgement and everything your Bro ever taught you, invite him to stay at your place.</p>
<p>He reminds you of the kittens Roxy used to drag home, the ones that Rose used to wave in front of the webcam when you were thirteen and living in Texas.</p>
<p>But that description might be a little more accurate than you thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late Nights

**Author's Note:**

> someday i swear i will write something that doesn't feature ridiculous, self indulgent headcanons and throwing john under the bus

You should've known better than to accept Rose's job offer when you'd moved to Chicago.  
  
At the time, you'd been broke and scrounging for DJing gigs around the city, so you hadn't had much choice, but now, sitting at the counter and facing her smug grin and the photo held daintily in her fingers, you realize what a mistake you made.  
  
The picture is, of course, incriminating. It's hard proof that you'd been the one who'd broken her mother's wizard statue at a New Years Eve party—a crime that you'd shoved off on one of the sleazy guys that had trailed in after Roxy. You hate the way you can actually _see_ the triumph in the curl of her black-painted lips, and you wish that you could go back in time and just get yourself a job with someone who didn't have a shit ton of blackmail stowed away under her bed.  
  
“What do you want?” You grumble and her lips pull away from her pearly teeth.  
  
“I have a date with Kanaya tonight. I need you to close the shop for me since Jade's out.”  
  
You groan, “You couldn't have thought of this earlier? Like, when you planned the fucking date?”  
  
She laughs, slipping gracefully away, folding the photo and tucking it into the waistband of her skirt.  
  
“I love seeing your face when I pull out that photo,” She says as she unties her apron and sashays into the back room. She emerges a few moments later with her purse draped over her shoulder.  
  
She waggles her fingers and blows you a kiss and tosses a smarmy thank you over her shoulder as she leaves the cafe.  
  
And then you're alone for—you glance at the clock—three more hours.  
  
You sigh and grab the stool that's tucked beneath the espresso machine, dragging it over to the register so you can flop down on top of the counter. Sunday nights are slow and Rose knows it. She knows that she's leaving you to spend three hours completely on your own with only your cell phone to keep you company. You pull it out now, while there are no customers, and pester Jade.  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 18:27 –-  
TG: rose sucks  
TG: seriously  
TG: she sucks some major fucking dick yo  
TG: shes goin crazy mad with the dick sucking  
GG: dave rose is a lesbian  
TG: what no shes not  
TG: just cuz shes datin a chick right now doesnt mean she doesnt go for the meat stick too  
TG: cmon jade  
TG: thought you were more open minded than that  
GG: ugh shut up  
GG: i know that  
GG: but i dont think shed be sucking any dicks right now  
GG: unless kanaya grew one  
GG: in which case, she probably does!!  
TG: okay i didnt mean she was really sucking dicks  
TG: i dont want to think about rose sucking dicks  
TG: it was a metaphor  
GG: haha i know!!  
GG: i just like to see you squirm!! ;)  
TG: god you fuckin women  
TG: why do i hang out with you guys  
GG: because you love us!!!  
GG: but anyway...  
GG: why does rose metaphorically suck dicks?  
TG: she blackmailed me into closing tonight so she could go on a date  
GG: oh!  
GG: which picture did she use???  
TG: the one with the statue  
GG: that's my fave!!  
TG: fuck you harley  
GG: nah i doubt karkat would appreciate such things  
TG: come on dont tell me youve never wanted a piece of the strider  
GG: yeah when i was thirteen!!!  
GG: but definitely not now  
GG: i mean karkats so short right?  
GG: and you know what they say about short guys ;D  
TG: jade  
TG: jade please no  
TG: the last thing i wanna think about is shouty's dong  
GG: i thought the last thing you wanted to think about was rose sucking dicks  
TG: how about we just not talk about either of those things  
GG: youre just mad because youre too tall  
TG: oh my god  
GG: youre so squeamish  
GG: its so  
GG: cute :D  
TG: god okay messaging you was a mistake  
GG: haha dont be such a party pooper!  
TG: goodbye jade  
TG: i will never speak to you again  
GG: yes you will  
GG: you can't live with out me  
GG: :*  
TG: gross  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 19:02 –-  
  
Sometimes you miss cute, excitable little Jade who grew up on her grandpa's island and didn't _think_ about sex or dicks let alone _talk_ about them. But she's all grown up and fucking Karkat regularly, so apparently you don't get to talk to her without hearing all about her sex life.  
  
You shove your phone back into your pocket because you know your friends well enough that you won't garner any sympathy from them with your unfortunate predicament. Mostly because you wouldn't be in the unfortunate predicament had you not given Rose plenty of blackmail material.  
  
It's apparently a good thing that you put your phone away because a rather disgruntled man has stumbled into Chains of Derse. He's got some shitty oversized fedora on and a scar on his left eye and he looks like he could kill a man if provoked. You don't particularly want to provoke him.  
  
“Hey,” You say slowly, “What can I get ya?”  
  
“Black coffee,” He bites out.  
  
You gesture lazily to the sign beside the register, “What kind?”  
  
The guy growls—he actually _growls_ —and slams his fist into the counter. You flinch back a little and think about going for your phone to call the cops.  
  
“I don't give a shit,” The guy snarls, “Just give me a goddamn coffee.”  
  
You think about asking what size, but you figure it'll only piss him off even more. So you snatch up the largest cup you guys offer and wander over to the coffee machine. You start up the coffee machine, filling it with the crappiest coffee grounds you guys own. You stay completely focused on the coffee machine, trying really, _really_ hard not to think about the fact that you could totally get stabbed in the back if you said the wrong thing.  
  
As the coffee's filling up the paper cup, you glance over your shoulder.  
  
“That's gonna be two eighty-five,” You say.  
  
He makes a disgruntled sound and you flinch again. God, you are way too young to die. You snap a lid onto the filled cup and walk back over. There's a five sitting on the counter and you put the coffee next to it before picking it up carefully. You move deliberately as you put the five in the register and count the change. You halfway expect him to pull a gun and demand all the money, but he just glowers at you until you hand him his change and then storms out of the shop.  
  
You're actually kind of glad the girls aren't here.  
  
You sag against the counter. Sometimes it sucks to work in a big city.  
  
You spend the next couple of hours dicking around on your phone and filling the orders of the few people who wandered in around eight. Rose sends you twelve pictures of her date all with scathing, mocking comments and you're tempted to send her a picture of your dick in retaliation. But that would just be more fodder for her blackmail, so you resist. At eight forty-five you start cleaning up and at nine you lock up the front doors and turn off the glowing open sign in the window.  
  
You lug the trash bags out back, slung over your shoulder. You toss them in the general direction of the dumpster—Rose would rag on you for that later but you didn't really care. You do care about the startled squeak that the dumpster makes, though. You halt completely, eyes wide, searching the dark alley for whatever made the noise. Rose would flip her shit if you find rats.  
  
You take a step forward and shove your shades up to the top of your head. Nothing, not that you can see. But there's a rustling from around the corner of the dumpster that's obstructed from your vision and you really don't want to go and find some raccoon or some shit, but as bitchy as she was about it, Rose trusted you here and you weren't going to let her down.  
  
So you ignore your pounding heart and wander around the trashcan to find a guy.  
  
He doesn't look particularly homeless, but he definitely looks roughed up. A bruise is flowering on his cheek and his hair is tangled and his eyes are wide behind a pair of cracked, rectangular glasses. He cowers back against the wall, arms and legs curled in and his lips curl away from his teeth, baring them like he's trying to intimidate you.  
  
You would laugh about that if you weren't so confused—the guy probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.  
  
“Hey,” You say, and he jumps.  
  
He doesn't reply, so you continue, “You, uh, you alright?”  
  
Still no reply. His lips are covering his teeth again, but he's staring at you with huge blue eyes. You're starting to wither under that gaze.  
  
“You...um, you can't actually...hang out here.”  
  
He jumps again with a startled noise and scrambles to his feet. You realize he's going to bolt and you practically lurch forward to stop him. Another startled noise and he hits the wall hard with how harshly he leaps away from you. You go completely still, hands raised.  
  
“Sorry,” You say, “Sorry. Look, um, you can come in with me if you want. Get cleaned up, I could make you a coffee or something?”  
  
His eyes flicker around, like he's looking for someone, but then they return to your face. Hesitantly, he nods. You take a step back and wave him toward the door. You don't miss the way he winces when you do. Jesus but this guy is jumpy.  
  
You open the door and let him walk in before you. He's hunched over and when he gets inside, he tugs his hood up. You don't think anything of it and follow him in.  
  
“Bathroom's around the corner,” You say, “You can get that dirt off your face, and I can get you some ice for the bruise. You want coffee?”  
  
He nods.  
  
“Black?”  
  
He shakes his head. You've figured out by now that he's probably not talking.  
  
“Cream and sugar?”  
  
Nod.  
  
“Alright, buddy, go clean up. I'll get your coffee ready.”  
  
He nods and scurries away.  
  
You're halfway through making the coffee when you stop and wonder what the _fuck_ you think you're doing. You don't want to make the kid pay for the coffee, and you're sure that Rose wouldn't mind if you paid her back for it tomorrow, but you definitely shouldn't have brought some random kid from the street into _Rose's shop_ where she and Jade spend a lot of their time after hours. What the fuck are you thinking?  
  
But you still make up the coffee and leave it on the counter so it's waiting for him when he comes out of the bathroom, head lowered meekly like he expects you to reprimand him. You don't. You just lean against the counter and watch as he picks up the coffee in bruised and scratched fingers and just kind of holds it for a minute.  
  
You wonder how long he's been out there.  
  
He sips at the coffee nervously. His eyes periodically flicker toward you, but you don't say anything. At one point, he tilts his head a little, lifts a head and taps his glasses.  
  
You realize your sunglasses are still perched atop your head and, a little flustered, you fumble with them to get them back in front of your eyes.  
  
“Sorry,” You say, “I know my eyes freak people out.”  
  
He shakes his head harshly and the coffee slips out of his hands and hits the floor. He lurches back, eyes wide, lips falling open.  
  
“Ah, shit. I'll go grab the mop.”  
  
You go into the back room and grab the mop. Then you realize that you probably shouldn't leave the homeless kid alone with the cash register and you hurry back out, but he hasn't so much as moved. He's kind of just staring at the spilt coffee and the moment you return, he jolts and stares at you instead. You mop up the spill and toss the cup.  
  
You stand for a moment, unsure what to say.  
  
“You got a place to stay?” you find yourself asking before you can stop.  
  
He halts, his eyes fall to the floor and he nods.  
  
“Is...is that a lie?”  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
“Is this place to stay somewhere you want to stay?”  
  
His muscles coil and he looks like a trapped animal. That answers that question. You stare at him for a second and then your mouth's moving faster than your mind can follow.  
  
“You wanna stay with me?”  
  
He makes a weird sound and you think you might have, too, because inviting a stranger into your workplace is one thing, but your _apartment?_ But you can't exactly back out now—well you could but talk about a dick move—and maybe the kid will say no, anyway, because why would you go home with some dude you just met, either?  
  
His lips part, close again, and he nods.  
  
Well, shit.  
  
You inhale, “Okay. Uh. Well, lemme just close up shop here real quick and then we can head out.”  
  
He waits patiently while you shut off the lights and clean off the machines. It's almost ten-thirty by the time you walk him out and lock the back door. He's still not talking, and anytime you make a gesture or you raise your voice even slightly above average, he hunches in on himself like you hit him. You try not to think too hard about that.  
  
You walk him up the stairs to your apartment and walk him inside. Shit, your apartment's a mess. You're a little embarrassed, but he's not really looking around, just standing awkwardly and watching you with those ridiculously big eyes—seriously who even has eyes that big this isn't a fucking anime.  
  
“I can get you some clothes,” You say, “You can, uh, shower. Crash on the couch. Sound good?”  
  
He nods.  
  
You gratefully take the chance to flee to your bedroom. What are you doing? What the hell are you _doing?_ Bro taught you better than this. What kind of an idiot just lets some guy into his apartment without even knowing his name let alone _anything else?_  
  
You grab a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt and take them out to him.  
  
He's standing there looking small and lost, stuffed into the way too large sweatshirt and loose jeans and you're briefly reminded of a cat that Rose had when she was a teenager. She'd shoved the poor thing up into the webcam and informed you that Roxy had found it on her way home. It had looked bedraggled and frightened and you remember thinking that, had you seen it on the side of the road, you probably would've carted it home with you, Bro's allergies be damned.  
  
He takes the clothes with a little nod and you direct him to the bathroom to clean up. He disappears and you fall onto the couch, scrubbing a hand over your face.  
  
You pull out your phone and open up Pesterchum.  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 23:04 –-  
TG: im an idiot  
TT: Goodness, did it really take you this long to figure out something so obvious?  
TG: fuck you  
TT: I'm sorry, but you were the one who said it.  
TG: fuck  
TG: i know  
TG: because i am  
TT: And how did you come to this conclusion, Mr. Strider?  
TG: theres a dude showering in my bathroom right now  
TT: Oh.  
TT: So you met someone, hm?  
TT: Is he cute?  
TG: why the fuck does that matter  
TG: no the important thing here is i have no idea who he is  
TT: I see.  
TT: So why is he in your shower, hm?  
TG: hell if i know  
TG: it just kinda happened  
TG: one minute im accidentally flingin trash on him  
TG: the next im givin him clothes to change into  
TT: I'm not quite following.  
TG: there was this kid  
TG: out by the dumpster when i was takin out the trash  
TT: David, were you throwing the trash bags again?  
TT: I don't want another angry letter from the garbage company.  
TG: once again youre totally missing the point  
TG: stow your fuckin crap and lemme talk will ya  
TT: Yes, sir.  
TG: guy was tweakin or some shit  
TG: and so i brought him in and let him clean up  
TG: made him a coffee  
TG: which you can totally pay for since he was chillin by your dumpster  
TG: the kids freaked right  
TG: so i asked him if he had a place to stay  
TG: because im nice as all fuck  
TG: and he said he did  
TG: but in that way that wasnt really a lie but wasnt totally true  
TG: so i  
TG: bein a southern gentleman  
TG: invited him to stay with me  
TG: and now some stranger  
TG: is using my shower  
TT: How heartwarming.  
TT: The sweetness of this story is rotting my teeth.  
TG: rose this is a serious fucking problem  
TT: I don't see why you're complaining to me.  
TT: You got yourself into this mess, as you get yourself into all your messes.  
TT: By not thinking your ideas through before acting on them.  
TG: fuck you youre not helping  
TT: I wasn't trying to.  
TG: thanks  
TT: You're quite welcome.  
TT: But you never did answer my earlier question.  
TT: Is he cute?  
TG: does it matter  
TT: Yes.  
TG: fine yes hes cute  
TG: in a way that makes me feel like ill go to jail for lookin at him  
TG: he must be like seventeen or some shit  
TT: Bring him by Chains of Derse tomorrow, if he hasn't killed you.  
TT: I'd like to see if I'm able to deduce why, exactly, you let you better judgment get away from you and invited him into my cafe.  
TT: I'll decide then how much trouble you're going to be in.  
TG: fuck you  
TG: oh shit hes out of the shower  
TT: Do try not to get killed.  
TT: I hate looking for employees.  
TG: ha  
TG: fucking  
TG: ha  
TT: :)  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 23:31 –-  
  
The kid shuffles out, his jeans bundled in his arms and his converse dangling from his fingers. He ducks his head, but he's still wearing the sweatshirt with the hood tugged up over his messy hair. You stand from the couch and hold out your arms. He hesitantly hands you the jeans.  
  
“Hoodie, too?” You ask.  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
“Dude, that thing's filthy. I appreciate that you wanna keep your shit, but you're not gonna sleep on my couch in that thing.”  
  
You can almost see him shrinking away, but you continue to stare him down behind your shades. You're aware from all the times Jade's complained about it just how much that freaks people out. Finally he relents, his shoulders sagging as he wriggles out of the sweatshirt. The tee-shirt and sweats are too big on him. He's not all that much shorter than you, but he looks like he's been starved and his arms are smeared black and yellow with bruises. Your stomach does a weird little twist. You hold out a hand and he gives you the sweatshirt.  
  
You're about to turn away and stick them in your laundry room when movement on his head catches your eye. At first, they just look like an addition to the swooping, unruly curls of his hair, but that's definitely not hair.  
  
Fuck are those cat ears?  
  
“Yo,” You say, “It's not Halloween, you know.”  
  
His face turns scarlet, all the way up to his—oh fuck he doesn't have ears.  
  
Not...not _human_ ears.  
  
The ears flicker and twitch, quivering down to lay flat against his wild hair.  
  
“Because those are fake, right?”  
  
He hunches his shoulders, face burning and eyes fixed on the floor.  
  
“Because they have to be fake, _right?”_  
  
You think that if you question him any further, he'll sink straight through the floorboards with how small he's trying to make himself.  
  
You've got way to many questions racing through your mind right now, but all you can manage to say is,  
  
“Oh, Nep's going to love this.”


	2. Meet the Family

Morning comes way too early.  
  
You'd bailed pretty quickly last night, spluttering a shitty excuse, dumping some blankets on the couch and locking yourself in your bedroom. It probably wasn't the best way to handle the situation—not that there was protocol for this shit—but, fuck, the kid has _cat ears._ You didn't sleep immediately because how the fuck were you supposed to and you listened to him shuffle around a little before the noises settled and you figured he went to sleep.  
  
You then proceeded to stay up half the night trying to figure out how the everloving fuck the guy was possible.  
  
There was no way, of course. He couldn't be possible. You found that out in eighth grade Biology. And yet he was there, wearing your clothes and sleeping on your couch. Impossibly.  
  
By the time you fall asleep, you've convinced yourself that you were tired and confused and there were definitely no cat ears. And of course, the kid didn't say anything, so it's not like he could've disputed your confused, sleep-deprived ramblings. Or maybe he thought that if he did try to tell you that you were wrong, you'd kick him out. He was obviously jumpy and you did have a few theories about that, so that might not be all that far from the truth.  
  
When your alarm clock blares at ten the next morning, you're groggy and tired and completely sure that the guy sleeping on your couch was just a regular kid with regular, human ears. Because cat ears are _impossible._  
  
You are, of course, wrong.  
  
You peel yourself out of your bed and grope for your sunglasses on the bed. Despite his denial, you're pretty sure his eyes freaked him out. Once they're safely on your face and you aren't gonna scare the poor kid shitless when he wakes up, you venture out into the living room.  
  
The guy's already awake and sitting rigidly in a little nest he's made out of his blankets. His ears are still there—fuck—and they're standing on end. He's staring at you with those ridiculous eyes of his, this time without the obstruction of his broken glasses.  
  
You try hard not to think about how blue they are because that's really fucking gay.  
  
“Morning,” You mumble. His ears twitch and he nods quickly in response.  
  
You cross to the kitchen and yank the coffee grounds out of the cupboard, scooping them into the coffee maker and starting up a pot. When you turn, the kid's still sitting in the same spot, though he's turned a little so he can watch you.  
  
“Coffee?” You ask, and he nods. “Alright. Cereal? I think I've got Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops.”  
  
He snorts. You raise your eyebrows.  
  
“Something funny?”  
  
You weren't mad, not even close, but he shrinks to about half his size with apology written all over his face.  
  
“Chill, man. Come in here, you can fix it yourself.”  
  
He stands and sort of waddles around the couch and into the kitchen. The sweats are cinched around his ankles, and you don't fail to notice the fact that he has paws instead of feet, so, yeah, he's either got a pretty wicked costume or he's totally legit. As you grab the two boxes of cereal out of the cupboards, he's shifting awkwardly from foot-to-foot with his hands curled so tightly into fists that he was practically shaking.  
  
“Dude, you gotta piss? Go to the bathroom, kid.”  
  
He bolts before you can finish the statement. It makes you wonder just how long he'd been sitting there, waiting for you to wake up and give him permission. You pour yourself some Lucky Charms and fish some milk out of the refrigerator before the coffee finishes. The guy returns a few minutes later with his face flushed a bright red. You can't help your smile and you slide a bowl toward him and leave the milk on the counter.  
  
Your coffee machine beeps, and you grab a couple of mugs out of the cupboards and fill them. You take a long drink of yours and nod toward the fridge.  
  
“Cream's in there. Sugar's on the counter next to the stove. I'll be right back, okay?”  
  
You leave his mug next to him and take yours with you into your bedroom. You set it on your desk and open up a couple of drawers, rifling through their contents until you find a pad of paper and a pen. You grab your coffee again and take everything out into the kitchen. The kid's nursing his coffee, and he's got a bowl of Fruit Loops sitting in front of him. It takes you a second to realize you hadn't given the poor guy a spoon.  
  
“Ah, shit. Here,” You put the paper and pen next to him and go to your silverware drawer, snatching a couple of spoons, “Sorry about that. I figured you ain't talkin', so you can use that. Unless it's, like, a communication thing and not a _talkin'_ thing.”  
He shakes his head, takes the spoon and starts in on his cereal. You figure the talking can wait until after you've had breakfast, so you eat yours, too. The kid eats slowly, and looks at you before every bite like he's asking permission or waiting for you to reprimand him. You don't—why the hell would you?—but he does it all the same. Once you've both finished, you dump both your bowls and your mugs into the sink and settle against the counter.  
  
“So,” You say, “Got a name?”  
  
He looks a little lost, so you gesture to the paper and pen. He flushes and picks them up, scribbling something down before turning the paper to face you.  
  
 _John_  
  
You don't believe that one for a second. He could have at least gotten a little creative, because, seriously, of all the names he had to choose from, he picked the most generic? You roll your eyes, even though he can't see them, and play along.  
  
“Okay, John. So you have cat ears. And apparently cat feet. Anything else I should know about?”  
  
He bites his lip and worries it between his teeth for a moment before hiking up the hem of the tee-shirt and hooking a finger into the waistband of the sweats. He pulls a little and a sleek black tail wriggles free, swishing back and forth. Yeah, this is going to take a lot of getting used to.  
  
You heave a sigh and drag your hand over your face, “Any reason for that?”  
  
He shrugs.  
  
“Great. Anyway, my boss wants me to bring you back around the cafe so she can decide if she's going to fire me for bringing you in. I'm gonna grab a shower and then we'll head out. I didn't get a chance to wash your clothes, but you can take whatever from my room, alright?”  
  
You're about to turn and head for the shower, but he makes a strange little squeaking noise and flaps his hands to grab your attention. You halt, eyebrows raised, and watch him scribble something onto the paper.  
  
 _I'm sorry. I don't want you to get fired because of me. I can just go if you want._  
  
You sigh, flapping your hand, “Nah, kid, it's fine. My fault. Rose won't actually fire me. Now go get dressed, I'll be out in a few minutes.”  
  
You slink off into the bathroom and turn the shower on. As the water heats, you strip and drop your glasses onto the counter, next to John's. His aren't irreparable, just cracked at the center so they sit crookedly on his nose. A little tape could fix them up. You can deal with that after your shower, though.  
  
You tug back the curtain and step under the spray. There's cat hair _everywhere._  
  
You squeeze your eyes shut and groan because if he's going to be staying here any longer—which he shouldn't, god dammit, you should just kick him the fuck out—you're going to have to clean the drains regularly to keep them from getting clogged. Fuck, you live alone specifically so you don't have to clean up after anyone but yourself.  
  
You shower as quickly as possible, lathering shampoo through your hair and scrubbing body wash along yourself. You climb out and towel yourself dry, only to realize that, like the idiot you've certainly proved yourself to be, you forgot your damned clothes. You drag your fingers through your damp hair, cinch your towel around your waist and step cautiously out of the bathroom.  
  
John's back on the couch, and he's folded the blankets neatly beside him. He's wearing one of your sweatshirts and a pair of your jeans with his paws poking out the ends of them.  
  
Paws.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
He turns upon your entrance and the moment he notices your lack of clothes, he makes this ridiculously cute little noise and turns completely red. He stares for a moment before tugging the collar of the sweatshirt up over his eyes.  
  
You can't help but chuckle before walking teasingly slow across the room. You can see his ears twitching, turning to follow your footsteps and you know you're being mean, but you can't help it. The kid's cute. And also a kid, you remind yourself.  
  
You feel suddenly dirty and hurry into your bedroom, slamming the door so he knows it's safe. God, you're such a creep.  
  
You throw on some boxers and jeans and a tee-shirt before grabbing a couple of pairs of socks for the both of you. When you reenter the living room, his face is still tinted pink, but his shoulders relax visibly at your clothed state. You toss a folded pair of socks at him and he reacts almost impossibly fast, snatching them out of the air and holding them in his lap. Your eyebrow quirks and his face turns red again, but he shrugs like it's nothing.  
  
“Impressive,” You say before sinking into a chair to pull your socks on. You watch him do the same, twisting and tugging the sock around his paw. Once it's on, he presses and shifts at the toes until they faintly resemble human foot.  
  
“Isn't that uncomfortable?” You ask.  
  
He pulls on the other sock before reaching for the pen and paper.  
  
 _Necessary._  
  
“Yeah, guess so. Hey, you need a hat, too?”  
  
He nods, so you tug your shoes on and return to your bedroom. Rose made you a beanie a few years ago as a birthday present, and it should be loose enough to hide his ears. You find it at the back of your closet, and when you go back to John, he's already got his feet stuffed into his ratty old Converse. That seriously can't be comfortable, especially with the way he's wincing as he pulls the shoelaces tight.  
  
“Isn't there something more comfortable you can wear?” You ask, dropping the beanie beside him, “Like looser shoes? Slippers?”  
  
He grabs at the pen.  
  
 _I can't go out in slippers. I'd draw too much attention._  
  
“Whatever, kid. Put your hat on and let's go. Rose isn't exactly patient.”  
  
He jumps to his feet and then bounces a couple of times, probably getting used to the feeling of his shoes. He scribbles something down and shoves the notebook and pen into the sweatshirt's pocket before fitting the beanie on his head. As you lead him out of the apartment, he hands you the note.  
  
 _Stop calling me kid. I'm nineteen._  
  
“Okay, kid.”  
He huffs haughtily and marches past you out of the apartment. You're laughing as you close and lock the door behind you because, well, he's really cute and now you don't have to worry about being a cradle robber for thinking that. Not that you were going to sleep with him, of course, because you just picked him up off the goddamn street.  
  
You ramble as the pair of you walk toward Chains of Derse. You're not even thinking about what you're saying and you might've devolved into rap at one point. You should probably be embarrassed about that because, dammit, you were supposed to be _cool_ , but you managed to get a smile out of John at one point, so the embarrassment is kind of smothered beneath the feeling of your chest swelling up.  
  
When you near Chains of Derse, you halt and wait for John to do the same.  
  
“Uh,” You say, “Look, my friends can be a little...overbearing. Just don't panic, alright? No one's gonna hurt you, swear to god.”  
  
His brows knit, and his eyes widen defensively and only then do you realize that he'd forgotten his glasses. Probably for the better; if Jade saw them she'd probably insist on buying him new ones. He makes a disgruntled noise and turns sharply away, headed for the shop.  
  
So maybe that hadn't been your smoothest move, but the last thing you needed was for Jade to try to hug him only to have him freak out and bolt. Sighing, you hurry to catch up to him before you reach the cafe. The moment the two of you are visible in the windows, you can hear Jade squealing.  
  
The door chimes as you walk in and Jade's bouncing up and down behind the counter.  
  
“He's so cute, Dave!” She squeaks, “Rose! Roxy! Dave's here!”  
  
Startled, you turn toward the door to the back room, “Shit, Roxy's here?”  
  
You hadn't prepared for a run-in with the older Lalonde. You're considering grabbing John and hauling ass out of there, but she's already bounding out of the back room, hair wild, eyes wide and grinning.  
  
 _“Davey!”_ She cries, nearly bowling you over as she throws her arms around your neck, “It's been too long, buddy! You never come by anymore!”  
  
“Yeah,” You cough, “Sorry, been busy.”  
  
“So I've heard,” She waggles her eyebrows, “So where's the fine little piece of ass you brought home, hm?”  
  
She releases you and turns around to face John. There's silence for a moment, John staring at her like a cornered animal—shit you can see his ears standing on end _shit_ —and Roxy examining him. Then her shoulders hunch up a little and she nearly shoots through the ceiling with the force of her voice.  
  
“How adorable, oh my god!” She pulls him into a tight hug, spinning him around excitedly, “How do you even manage to find someone as cute as this, Dave? God, you've got all the luck.”  
  
You might be panicking just a little because, shit, he's not going to freak out and hurt her, is he? Roxy's a little eccentric, but you don't want him to _hurt_ her. But when she pushes him away to look at his face again, he looks a little dazed and more relaxed than you've seen him since you met him last night.  
  
“Oh, sweetie, your face! How awful. Who did that to you?” Her fingers flutter across the bruise, stopping suddenly just before his ear. Your heart starts pounding, wondering if she noticed his lack of ears, but she just turns to you, face curiously blank.  
  
 _“You_ didn't do this to him, did you, Dave?”  
  
“What?” You snap, “No! Fuck no! I found him like that! And he- Jesus, he's been jumpier than a goddamn rabbit since I met him, how did you do that?”  
  
You gesture at him, swaying on his feet and—shit, is he purring?  
  
Roxy giggles, “Oh, it's my perfume. My cats do the same thing, and it sometimes works on young men.”  
  
She winks then throws an arm around John's shoulder, “C'mon, sweetie, I wanna talk to you while my little sister whips that roommate of yours into shape. Jade, baby, make us some drinks and join us!”  
  
“Be right there!” Jade calls.  
  
Roxy takes John to a far corner of the cafe and sits him down. You smother a laugh at him, sitting with pupils blown wide like a kitten on catnip. Which he is, you remind yourself.  
  
“So he was really out back?” Jade asks you since Rose still hasn't emerged.  
  
“Yeah,” You say, moving to lean against the counter, “Huddled out behind the dumpster, scared shitless.”  
  
She frowns, “Looks like someone gave him a pretty harsh beating.”  
  
She's gnawing on her lower lip as she fixes drinks. Her smile's gone and her brow's furrowed and you know that she's putting the pieces together like you had.  
  
“You should see him under the sweatshirt.”  
  
She winces, and you think that you probably shouldn't have said that. She's capping the drinks and putting them on a tray as she says,  
  
“Who could hurt someone like that?”  
  
You shrug and she heads over to sit with Roxy and John.  
  
“He doesn't talk!” You call over, “He's got some paper and a pen in his pocket!”  
  
Jade nods and shoots you a smile as she sets the drinks down on table. You sag against the counter, watching the three of them talk once John's shaken himself from his stupor a bit. He's still looking at Roxy, shuddering whenever he catches a whiff of her perfume.  
  
“So, you find a poor, frightened kitten by the dumpster and take him home, huh? You and I are more alike than you care to admit, Mr. Strider.”  
  
You jump, turning to face Rose who's staring over at the trio.  
  
A moment of silence passes before she turns to you,  
  
“He's cute, Dave. I can see why you would pick him up.”  
  
You roll your eyes, “Would you shut up about that? He needed help, I gave it to him.”  
  
She blinks, “Mhmm. I heard Roxy call him your roommate?”  
  
“It's a temporary solution.”  
  
“Solution to what?”  
  
“The fact that he's homeless.”  
  
“How long will he be staying?”  
  
“I don't know.”  
  
“Forever, is my guess.”  
  
“I don't even _know_ him, Rose!”  
  
“But you want to.”  
  
You splutter and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. She laughs and you're really tempted to flee right now because you didn't come here to be made fun of. Okay, so you sort of did, because you totally knew this was going to happen, but you don't just have to stand here and _take_ it.  
  
“I'm only joking, Dave, calm yourself,” She says with shoulders shaking from her suppressed giggles, “You're not in trouble. I would've brought him in, too. What's his name?”  
  
You shrug, “John.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
You chat with Rose a while longer, both of you watching Jade and Roxy giggling and chattering with John. He's smiling, jotting down replies and comments and the girls seem to be having a good time. When the shop starts getting busier, you decide to take your leave.  
  
Before you call John over, though, Rose puts a hand on your shoulder.  
  
“Keep him around, Dave,” She says quietly, “I think that he'll be good for you, for all of us. I have a feeling...he's special.”  
  
You snort, “You have no idea.”  
  
She rolls her eyes and turns away, “Jade! Back to work!”  
  
Jade groans dramatically and stands, wishing John well before returning behind the counter. She smiles warmly at you, “He's a sweetheart. You did well, Dave.”  
  
“So he's got the Harley seal of approval?”  
  
She giggles, “Definitely.”  
  
You reach over the counter to ruffle her hair and she squeals, swatting at your hands. You turn to call to John but find that he and Roxy are already standing next to you. Roxy's got her arm around his shoulders and he's kind of sagging into her, eyes still glassy.  
  
“I'm gonna come over,” Roxy says, “Wanna hang with you and John for a little while. You mind?”  
  
“Not at all,” You reply, “Though you may want to shower, I think your perfume's messin' with his head pretty badly.”  
  
She laughs and nudges him a little and he shuffles over to you, leaning against your side. You ruffle his beanie, making sure to scratch a little behind his ears. Yeah, he's definitely purring. You smile at that, and wave goodbye to Jade and Rose before leading the poor kid out the door.  
  
Roxy talks about the classes she's taking down at the college and about this boy she met, Sollux, who's giving her a run for her money as the best hacker at the university. She also informs you that, as of last month, she was one year sober. You grin and congratulate her. She's been struggling with alcoholism since she was a teenager, and last year she'd dropped it cold turkey. You were really proud of her.  
  
After you open your apartment door, Roxy grabs your arm, “Oh! Dave, I wanted to go grab something from the convenience store, would you walk me? John can stay here on his own, right? It'll just be a few minutes.”  
  
You hesitate, looking to John who's begun to come back to his senses. Roxy's looking at you in that Lalonde way that tells you that she wants more than a trip to the convenience store.  
  
You sigh.  
  
“Alright. We won't be long, John. You've got free reign of the apartment, just don't break anything and we're good, alright?”  
  
He nods blearily and shuffles inside. You lock the door behind him and follow Roxy back down the stairs.  
  
Outside of the building, she finds a bench and sits, patting the space next to her. You sit.  
  
“So,” She says, leaning back, “John's not a normal kid, is he?”  
  
You kind of feel like you've been punched in the gut, “Uh, what would make you say that?”  
  
She snorts, “I lied about the perfume. It only works on cats—it's how I get strays to come home with me. And John's reaction wasn't exactly something he could fake. And don't think I didn't notice those suspicious lumps under his hat. Now that I'm sober my observation skills are off the chain.”  
  
You sigh. You're not getting out of this, and as ridiculous and silly as she could be, you trust Roxy quite a bit. Almost as much as you trust Rose. She wouldn't do anything to hurt the kid, you'd hope.  
  
“I can't really tell you what's up with him because I don't actually know. But he's got cat ears and paw feet and a tail and I'm not sure but I'm pretty sure he just makes a nest out of blankets instead of sleeping under them. So yeah. Pretty weird.”  
  
Roxy's eyebrows raise and she leans back, “Wow. So he's some sort of biological anomaly, huh?”  
  
You tense, “Don't call him that, he's still a person.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, I know. But that's why he's keeping it hidden, right? Because people would see him like that?”  
  
You shrug.  
  
“And the bruises?”  
  
Another shrug.  
  
“Poor kid,” she sighs, “Guess we should get back to him, huh?”  
“Yeah. Woke up this morning and the kid wouldn't even go to the bathroom without my say so.”  
  
You help her up and the two of you make your way back up again. When you open up your apartment again, you hear quiet gasping and hitched breaths. Your heart pounds in your chest and you nearly shove Roxy over with how quickly you run in.  
  
“John?” You call, _“John?”_  
  
You tear into your bedroom, the bathroom, the closets, and then you hear Roxy's,  
  
“Oh my god.”  
  
You stagger back into the living room and see her standing at the entrance to the kitchen, hands over her mouth. You hurry to her side and find John on the kitchen floor, the shattered remains of one of your cups sitting before him. His hands are shaking and smeared with blood and he's trying to fucking piece the glass back together. Tears are running down his cheeks and you can physically feel your heart shattering in your chest. You take a step forward and he lurches back, curling in on himself and tucking his shredded hands against his chest. He's mouthing sorry over and over again and you can hear the air rasping from his throat like he's trying to speak but can't.  
  
You step forward again and try to ignore how his trembling worsens. You crouch in front of him and slowly, very slowly, reach out to touch his shoulder. He jolts. His tremors are violent and his sobs are harsh and wrecked.  
  
“John,” You say softly, “John. It's okay. It's fine. I'm not mad. No one's mad. Right, Rox?”  
  
“Yeah,” She croaks, “Not mad. Not at all.”  
  
He leans forward, just a little, and when you don't react, he lurches forward into your chest. You wrap your arms around him and rub his back, murmuring some of your old raps quietly, hoping it's soothing.  
  
Roxy makes a soft sound, almost a whimper, then says, “I'm going to kill whoever did this.”  
  
You haven't even known John for an entire day, but holding him here as he quivers against you and listening to the rasp of his breath as he continues to apologize silently, you can't help but agree.


	3. Stitches

There's no way in hell you're ever sending John back to wherever the fuck he came from.  
  
Not after that.  
  
You'd handed him off to Roxy when he'd calmed down enough to breathe properly, and she'd walked him into the bathroom to take care of his cuts while you cleaned up the broken glass. The droplets of blood would probably stain the tile, and they'd serve to forever remind you of the image of John desperately trying to piece the glass back together and flinching away from you like you were going to hit him.  
  
You hate whoever did this to him. You hate them so much that your hands are shaking as you sweep the glass up and scrub at the bloodstains.  
  
You hate them so much that you can feel the bile rising in your throat and you have to clench your jaw hard enough to make it throb just so you don't vomit. You're pacing the living room when Roxy peeks her head out of the bathroom door, and taking note of your stormy mood, she ushers John away from you and into your room.  
  
You've never been more grateful that Roxy Lalonde exists. You have no idea what you would've done with all this anger if you'd been alone and dealing with a frightened, abused boy who was living in constant fear that one wrong step would set you off and turn you into the violent asshole he expects you to be.  
  
That's a lie; you know _exactly_ what you would've done.  
  
You would've been angry and shaking because you've never really been good at compartmentalizing your emotions, and you would've scared John and he would've run off to god knows where and someone would've found him and-  
  
You don't actually want to follow that train of thought.  
  
You flop down onto the couch, on the nest of blankets John had made for himself which you hadn't had time to put away, and wrench your shades off your face before flinging an arm over your eyes.  
  
You really need to calm down because the last thing John needs is for you to be raging around the apartment like a psycho. You take deep breaths and you imagine Bro rubbing circles into your temples like he used to do when you got too upset about something.  
  
It works well enough. Your hands stop shaking but you're still out for blood.  
  
You sit up and drag your fingers through your hair. You can hear the soft hum of Roxy mumbling in the bedroom, and you figure you should go in there since John was your responsibility. You return your shades—he hadn't seemed too perturbed by your eyes before, but you're not taking any chances when he's this skittish.  
  
You enter quietly, wincing when the door squeaks a little. John's curled on his side, tucked into the blankets with his head on Roxy's lap. His eyes are closed, his breathing's slow and you can see the white bandages wrapped around his fingers where they poke out and curve over Roxy's thigh.  
  
Roxy's running her fingers through his hair, and you think she might be singing. She looks up when you walk in, and even though she smiles, it's a bit wobbly and accompanied by wet eyes.  
  
“How's he doing?” You ask quietly. His ears twitch but he doesn't stir otherwise.  
  
“He's tired,” She says, “My perfume's helping, I think.”  
  
You nod and cross the room, sitting beside her. Roxy looks like fractured glass, like she could shatter at any minute. You reach out and fit your hand to the back of her neck, squeezing gently and rubbing your thumb in small circles. She doesn't relax much, but she leans into your touch with a small sigh.  
  
“He was so scared,” She whispers, “And the cuts- I don't think the bandages are going to be enough. He needs stitches, but when I asked him if I could take him to the hospital he freaked. Getting the antiseptic on was bad enough—Jesus, Dave, you should've seen his fucking face. I warned him it would burn but he was shaking like a leaf and he was looking at me like-like I was hurting him on _purpose_ and-”  
  
You squeeze a little harder and pull her down, pressing her face into your neck, “Whoa, Rox, breathe. It's alright, okay? You need to calm down.”  
  
She nods, trembling against your side. She makes a quiet little noise, muffled against your collar bone, and you curl your fingers in her hair.  
  
Roxy's hand has stopped petting John's hair, and he shifts and mewls in complaint.  
  
Roxy's laugh is a little watery, but it's music to your ears.  
  
When she finally relaxes, you let her sit up again and do well to ignore how splotchy her face is.  
  
John's pretty much asleep right now, and you can see the bandages darkening. Yeah, you're definitely going to have to find him a doctor. Fast.  
  
“Oh!” Roxy says, “Duh! Feferi and Nepeta! They've got an animal clinic, right?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. They're across town, right? We can take my car.”  
  
Roxy nods, pulling her hand from John's hair and pushing the blankets off of him. He makes a noise of protest, eyes opening a little and locking straight onto you. He freezes, every muscle in his body tightening, fingers curling into fists despite the pained sound he makes because of his disturbance of the wounds.  
  
“Hey, it's okay,” You say quietly, “We're going to take you to some friends who can stitch up your hands. No hospitals required.”  
  
It takes a moment of him searching your face before he relaxes again and nods.  
  
Roxy helps him sit up, and you reach down to hoist him up by his elbow. He's disoriented, and he sways a bit on his feet. You doubt he's going to be able to make it down the stairs without help, so you crouch down and hook your arm behind his knees and sweeping him up into your arms like a knight with his princess.  
  
He squeaks and makes a pitiful little noise of protest, but you shush him.  
  
You tell Roxy to grab the car keys from the bedside table and resolutely ignore her cooing all the way down to the apartment building's parking complex.  
  
You don't use your car much, so you're really hoping you've got enough gas to make it across town. You set John down and let him sag against you—shit, that perfume's got some kick—and Roxy opens the door and helps him in.  
  
“You sit in back,” You say, “Keep him calm. Don't need him snapping out of his daze and freaking out because he's bleeding in the back of an unfamiliar car.”  
  
“Mmkay. I don't mind cuddling with him a little more,” Roxy winks as she slips inside, tugging the door shut behind her. You roll your eyes and climb into the driver's seat. The car starts, and you've got half a tank of gas, so you should be good.  
  
Well, good enough.  
  
The car ride isn't exactly smooth. It's mid afternoon and the traffic is hell. It's not as bad at rush hour, and any other time it wouldn't be a problem, but now every sharp turn and hard brake makes John jolt and squeak in the back seat. You listen to Roxy murmuring comforts to him the entire way.  
  
You park behind the clinic when you arrive. Turning a little, you look at Roxy,  
  
“Hey. You go inside and talk to the girls; they like you better, anyway. I need John relatively lucid.”  
  
“Yeah, of course,” She says, gently prying herself away from John and climbing out of the car with a little waggle of her fingers.  
  
You're not sure how long it's gonna take to get him sober, so you pull out your phone to shoot a pester at Rose and Jade.  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] opened a memo on board Dave Has Important Shit to Say --  
  
TG: yo guys  
TG: i got a 411  
  
\-- gardenGnostic [GG] responded to memo. --  
  
GG: ohhhh is it good news???  
GG: did the cute little stray fall for the strider charm? ;)  
  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] responded to memo. --  
  
TT: You've piqued my curiosity, Dave.  
TT: Please continue.  
TG: well first off its not good news  
TG: kinda shitty news actually  
TG: majorly shitty news  
GG: oh...  
GG: well whats up then?  
TG: roxy and i are down at feferi and nepeta's place  
GG: youre just visiting right  
GG: you mean their house  
TT: I don't believe he does, Jade.  
TG: yeah were here for the clinic yo  
GG: why???  
GG: you dont have any animals do you??  
TG: no i dont  
TG: but we need some medical attention without a hospital  
GG: WHY????  
TG: john needs it  
TT: David, I would very much appreciate it if you would stop being insufferably vague and explain to us what happened.  
TT: There are many things I will not tolerate and purposefully upsetting Jade is very high on that list.  
TG: jesus okay cool your shit  
TG: john broke a glass while me and roxy were talkin  
TG: and he freaked the fuck out  
TG: like major freak out  
TG: he tried to put the damned glass back together and he totally tore up his fingers  
TG: kept apologizing  
TG: freaked roxy out somethin awful  
TG: he refused to go to the hospital  
TG: so here we are  
GG: oh my god...  
GG: that's so awful...  
TT: Yes, it's incredibly troubling.  
TT: My suspicions are certainly more concrete now.  
TT: These are definite signs of abuse.  
GG: who could do that to such a nice boy???  
GG: god i just HATE people sometimes!!!  
GG: RAAAAAAARGH >:(  
TG: jade i am forever impressed with your way with words  
GG: shut up dave  
TG: i was bein serious  
GG: no you werent  
GG: im not stupid  
TT: Now, now, children.  
TT: This isn't the time.  
GG: rose is right  
GG: so are you keeping him then dave??  
TG: what  
GG: are you going to let him stay  
GG: i mean you cant put him out on the street  
GG: and you cant send him back wherever he came from  
GG: (because if you do that i will kill you okay)  
TG: yeah i think ill let him stay  
TG: i mean he hasnt stolen anything  
TG: and you guys like him  
TG: and ive got plenty of room at my place  
TT: I'm glad to hear that.  
TT: If you didn't take him in, I'm sure Roxy would have.  
TT: And as much as I love my sister, I earnestly feel better with him in your care than hers.  
TG: yo your sisters been pretty helpful  
TG: dont be dissin the roxy  
TT: I don't doubt that.  
TT: I simply know that she would likely be overbearing no matter how well intentioned.  
TT: Also, the interesting way her perfume affects him would probably be counterproductive.  
TG: yeah no kiddin  
TG: oh shit i think he's sobered up  
TG: talk to you guys later  
GG: good luck!  
GG: take care of him!!!  
TG: i will  
GG: <3  
  
\-- [GG] ceased responding to memo. --  
TT: Feel free to bring him in to work tomorrow.  
TT: And by that, I mean bring him in to work tomorrow.  
TT: No keeping him all to yourself.  
TG: keep it in your pants lalonde  
TT: I'll do my best.  
  
\-- [TT] ceased responding to memo. --  
  
\-- [TG] closed the memo. --  
  
John's peering at you from the back seat, eyes round behind his glasses. His eyes definitely have to be influenced by his cat...ness because no way could they be that huge naturally. The guy's straight from an anime.  
  
“So, John,” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt and turning to face him, “Feferi and Nepeta are vets, and they're going to be wondering why we brought you. So Roxy and I are pretty sweet liars. We could probably come up with some bullshit excuse to cover for you, but it'd be easier if we could tell 'em about your...uh...condition? I don't know if it's, like, a big secret to be kept from everyone or if it's just to be hidden from the public eye, but these ladies are friends. Trusted friends. So you can trust them.”  
  
John frowns a little then reaches forward and gestures toward your hands. You offer him one and he takes it gingerly in bandaged fingers. Slowly, he draws feather-light lines into your palm; it takes you a moment and a couple of meaningful glances for you to realize that he's drawing letters.  
  
“Oh- you're talking. Okay, yeah, okay.”  
  
It's a slow, tedious process, but it's probably the best he can manage with his hands as mutilated as they are.  
  
 _Not a secret from friends. If you trust them it is OK._  
  
“Okay, sweet. Then we should probably go in, yeah?”  
  
He nods quietly before you climb out of the car and open his door for him. He's much steadier on his feet now.  
  
Nepeta's waiting when you come in, “Hey, guys! Roxy told me your situation, and I've got a room all prepped.”  
  
She turns toward John, “You're John, right? I'm Nepeta—well, _formally_ I'm Doctor Leijon, but that's not important because you're a friend! Now come along, boys, we'll get you fixed right up!”  
  
She leads you through the halls, chattering brightly, and you can see John drawing further and further into himself as you walk. He jumps when you put a hand on his shoulder, looking up at you with wide, bright eyes.  
You smile a little and hope it's comforting, but he just looks back at Nepeta's back without even the slightest change in expression.  
  
“Here we are!” Nepeta holds a door open for you and John and the pair of you step inside, “Go ahead and sit down on the cot, there.”  
  
“Uh, Nep? There's something you should probably know,” You say as John hefts himself onto the bed. She raises her eyebrows, and you shift over to his side, look at him questioningly and wait for his subtle little nod of approval. You reach up and tug the beanie from his head.  
  
His ears perk up, twisting and twitching in their newfound freedom.  
  
“Oh,” Nepeta says, “Oh! I...I will worry about that once we've dealt with your hands. Yes, your hands are definitely the priority here. It's good that you told me, though—some of the local anesthetics I use can be harmful to felines.”  
  
Nepeta works quietly and precisely. When she administers the anesthetics, John makes a pained sound and his ears stand on end, the fur on them puffed out. He relaxes after that, though, and he watches Nepeta work. His eyes follow her movements, his pupils blown wide as saucers, and it's amusing how catlike he looks.  
  
“Okay!” Nepeta says as she finishes, “Keep those as dry as possible, clean them gently with rubbing alcohol, change the bandages every other day, and in two weeks you can come back here so that I can get 'em out. I'd say Dave could do it but I wouldn't trust him not to muck it up.”  
  
She winks and gets a little smile out of John.  
  
She plucks her gloves off and tosses them in the waste bin by the door before shucking her lab coat and smiling at John again.  
  
“Now,” She says, “No more Doctor Leijon. Now I'm Nepeta, and wow. Cat ears.”  
  
John nods.  
  
“Anything other traits I should know about? I noticed during the stitching that you've got the fixation with movement...”  
  
John looks at you, and you remember that, oh yeah, he doesn't talk.  
  
“Uh,” You stand and Nepeta turns to look at you, “He's got a tail. And, um, paws. For feet. And he gets all loopy around Roxy's perfume like other cats do.”  
  
Nepeta rolls her eyes, “I wish she wouldn't come in here with that stuff on. So, John, may I...see?”  
  
John swallows and his eyes flicker to you again before he nods and kicks off his shoes. Then he shimmies out of his pants and his tail curves around his waist, the tip flickering about.  
  
“Oh, sweetie,” Nepeta crouches down, “You can't do this to your paws, it's so unhealthy.”  
  
She carefully peels the socks off and folds the paws back into their natural state, rubbing slow circles into the joints. John's making soft sounds and you can't tell whether he's in pain or being soothed. Either way, you want to crawl onto the bed with him and hold him close and pet his hair a little.  
  
Bad thoughts. You shouldn't think like that. He's an adult, yeah, but only barely.  
  
She continues to lecture John about proper treatment of his inhuman features, how to keep his ears clean and how he should definitely not be stuffing his paws into Converse and how his tail shouldn't lay flat down in his jeans like he has it. John nods along, but you get the feeling he's heard all this before—that's the same nod you used to pull when Bro would lecture you when you were a teenager.  
  
“You're adorable,” Nepeta says as she finishes up, “Honestly, Dave, how long have you been keeping this cutie from me? Should I be jealous?”  
  
“Claws off, Nepeta,” You say, standing and elbowing her out of the way, “I met him two days ago.”  
  
She giggles and pulls a face, “Okay, you two. I'll go grab Roxy and you guys can head out. Have a good day! You can visit anytime, and if you have any other medical emergencies, I'm your gal. Or Feferi if I'm unavailable.”  
  
She kisses your cheek before leaving the room.  
  
“She's really something,” You say, “Anyway, Rose's girlfriend can probably make you some shoes that won't twist your paws up. I can have Rose bring her to the shop tomorrow. She also wants you to come into work with me, if that's alright. You don't have to, 'course, you can hang out in the apartment if you want.”  
  
John nods, but he's not looking at you. Instead, he's looking at his twiddling thumbs. You want to ask what's wrong, but then Roxy's back. Her hair's wet, and she's wearing clothes that definitely aren't hers because they're a few sizes too large.  
  
“Feferi made me shower,” She explains, lower lip poking out in a pout, “My perfume was bothering the cats.”  
  
“Well, at least John will be safe from the influence,” You turn to him, “Ready?”  
  
He nods, hopping off the bed.  
  
He walks ahead of you and Roxy on the way out, and when he gets in the back of the car, he closes the door immediately behind him. Roxy shoots you a look but says nothing as she sits in the passenger seat. The car ride is nearly silent. You drop Roxy off at home and endure the rest of the tense silence alone.  
  
His mood doesn't change after you get home. The second you get back, he goes to the couch and burrows into the blankets. You want to say something, but you figure he's probably still exhausted. It was a long day, after all. So you leave him be and go into your bedroom to do some writing.  
  
–  
  
After laying down for your own nap, you venture out of your bedroom again and find John sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Hey,” You say, and he doesn't even turn. His ears twitch, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling.  
  
“Dude, are you going to ignore me forever?”  
  
Still no response.  
  
You heave a sigh and walk over. You shove his legs out of the way and flop onto the couch beside him. He makes a disgruntled noise and rolls onto his side.  
  
“This is ridiculous,” You say, “What did I do? You know, we didn't have to tell Nepeta about the whole cat thing. You coulda just said no. I also could have let you bleed out through your fingers if that's what you really wanted. You could've just said- er, fuck, not said, shit-”  
  
John rolls back onto his back with an irritated little growl, effectively shutting you up. He grabs your hand in his and pulls it over his stomach, drawing letters quickly into your skin.  
  
 _You took me to a vet._  
  
“Yeah,” You say, “That happened. You needed to see a doctor, John. Those were fucking nasty cuts.”  
  
 _But you took me to a vet._  
  
“Okay, so it's the vet that's a problem?”  
  
 _I'm not an animal._  
  
“I never said you were, John, Jesus. If I had a human doctor friend, I'd have taken you there, but as it happens, the only medical professionals that I am intimately familiar with were a pair of lesbian vets.”  
  
He huffs, sinking down into the couch, but not releasing your hand. There's a moment of silence before he starts drawing again, slower this time.  
  
 _Sorry. Guy I stayed with before took me to vets._  
  
Oh.  
  
You swallow thickly, “Shit, wow, sorry. It really didn't have to do with the cat thing, though. And it's not like I woulda taken you to any old vet. You're too delicate, princess.”  
  
He pulls a face.  
  
 _You're kind of a prick._  
  
“You're vicious, kid. Acting all cute and meek around the ladies and then turning stone cold asshole when it's just you and me.”  
  
 _Gotta keep you on your toes. Also, the girls are nice. Roxy smells better than you._  
  
“You're just saying that because of her creepy sex pollen perfume.”  
  
 _Fuck you._  
  
“Such a filthy mouth.”  
  
John makes this sort of gaspy-wheezy noise and you panic a little for a second before you see his grin and realize that he's laughing.  
  
You laugh along with him and think you could probably get used to this.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, I know this is going to look like an update and I'm _really, really_ sorry about getting your hopes up if you follow this story.  
  
I've kind of hit a wall with this story. I'm just not sure how I should go about continuing it; I have plans, of course, but I'm just not sure how to get there. I've made multiple attempts at working on it, but I can never get past a few hundred words before it ends up being something that I would be even remotely proud of. A lot has happened in the past couple of weeks and it's easier on me if I don't stress myself out trying to write this story when I very much can't.  
  
I am in no way abandoning this story, and if I do end up doing so, I will let you know that it's discontinued. Right now, I'm probably just going to take a hiatus on this one until I can muster up some information and write something that would actually be worth you guys reading.  
  
I apologize profusely, and I'll do my best to get back into it, but for now, don't expect and update anytime soon.


End file.
